


P...

by BananaNeko



Series: Words That Start With P [4]
Category: Vocaloid
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Written by Fangirl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-28 23:26:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15717252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaNeko/pseuds/BananaNeko
Summary: Another of that stuff. And cider.





	P...

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for being a sop. I’ll get a move on with my fics. _I will._

_Once upon a time, Alice was lost in Wonderland._

_“You’ve lost your muchness,” said the Hatter. “You are neither not much nor much, but a nobody inbetween.” You’ve spent too notmuch time in either world –_

 

‘That just sucks,’ says Len, sipping at his tea.

The author looks up from her half-blank page on the kitchen table and swings her n-th bottle of cider up to her eye-bagged face. ‘You write _me_ a story then, for a change,’ she retorts through the bottle.

He doesn’t even look up from his cup. ‘There isn’t much to write about you, is there?’

‘Then write something to add in to me. Make me a witch or some harlot or even a damned doughnut in un-reality.’

‘Your writing sucks. Actually – all your ideas suck.’

‘I _know_ that.’

‘Then why didn’t you choose something more worthwhile to do with your life?’

‘Because you fucked it up,’ she says for the hundredth time.

‘I did nothing.’ He takes another sip of his tea.

‘I don’t know. Maybe I felt that writing about you was a very attractive choice of career.’

‘You never finished it.’

‘…I know.’

‘Do you even earn anything out of it?’

‘…Derision?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘That’s insulting.’

‘I tried painting you, and you, and you –’

‘You never finished it.’

She snorted. ‘Seems I don’t have the talent.’

‘You showed some signs of it.’

‘Twas a misjudgement.’

‘…You used to be better,’ he admits over several minutes of deliberation. ‘But remarkably it seems the more you try to be smart, the stupider you get.’

‘Thank you,’ she mutters, tossing aside her page and reaching for the cider. ‘You’ve succeeded in putting me completely off my mood to write, if that was what you meant to do.’

‘Then get what’s left of your limited creativity to work. If you’re capable of nothing else. Write about me.’

‘You have blue eyes,’ she drones, ‘and blonde hair. And a wonderful, wonderful dick.’ Her head sinks onto the kitchen table with a bonk.

He probably rolls his eyes.

‘Isn’t there _anything_ inside that makes me more than a dutch husband?’

‘ _Spunk_.’

Bonk.

‘I doubt it.’

‘I gave you a lot,’ she says with her face in the table. ‘You have loads, and loads, and looaads of wonderful creamy spunk. Lots and lots…’

‘It’s time to wake up. You’re alone.’ He snaps his fingers in the air. ‘You’re all alone. There’s no one in this kitchen.’

Silence falls as she attempts to fumble around the thick fog in her head for about twenty seconds. She can only see the wood grains of the table but she can smell the cider in the bottle and the dim kitchen light to remind her she’s probably still awake.

‘…You still there?’

‘…’

She grows worried enough to carry up her brick-heavy head, and gazes at the pair of exasperated blue eyes in front of her in dumb muteness. ‘…Why haven’t you disappeared?’ she asks thickly after another thirty seconds of scrutiny.

‘Because I’m the stake lodged in the fuck-hole you fucked your life with,’ he answers. ‘I’m going to stay here till you have the guts to pull it out and bleed to death, whether you like it or not.’

She simpers foggily. ‘That’s a nice sentiment.’

She stares at the last drop of cider in the bottom of her bottle with a sad face.

‘There’s tea if you want.’

‘Mm.’

‘Milk?’

‘Squeeze some spunk in it and I’ll be fine,’ she laughs. ‘You, you, you. Irresistible you…’

He turns away towards the sink. ‘You’re in for a slow and painful death.’

 


End file.
